


The Philosopher Queens

by Violet_CLM



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: M/M, my liberal arts education let me show you it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_CLM/pseuds/Violet_CLM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come! Perhaps you reject my thinking because you have forced homosexual behavior into an entirely abstract construct and forgotten the actual sensations it stands for. Let me show you, then, master, and you can judge for yourself afterward, having experienced our topic of discussion in all its capacities."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Philosopher Queens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faynudibranch](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faynudibranch).



Plato breathed a sigh of relief as the last of his students left the Academy for the day, each one promising to philosophize constantly until they saw him again when they would have many more questions for deep contemplation. He was, of course, generally in favor of such things, and looked forward in principle to penetrating the cores of their arguments, but right then he was in the mood for another kind of penetration. Although he had yet to tell any of his bright-faced students about it, Plato kept a secret chamber underneath the paving stones to which he would frequently retreat whenever he wished not to be disturbed. The chamber was accessible by a complicated mechanical device triggered by the manipulation of a nude three-cubit statue of Helen off to one side of the enclosure of ground that made up the Academy. The architect of the chamber, a furtive man named Dikcheneus, had expressed a concern to Plato that such a visible statue could easily be triggered by one of his students, but Plato had laughed at the notion that any of his students would dare to touch even the statue of a naked woman, let alone have any idea what to do with one once he had gotten started.

"Hello, Helen," he whispered as he approached. "May I enter your secret place tonight?" The garishly painted stone, sure to lose its paint in the coming centuries and become the same light brown as everything else around it, its original nature discoverable only by natural philosophers of great skill, seemed to smile seductively up at him. Many a time before this he had knelt before her and rigorously launched a ship of his own, but this time his intent was far more sophisticated than such unadulterated carnality. Delicately, Plato reached out a hand and stroked her rigid hair, pulling on the end to begin the triggering mechanism. Without this initial signs of affection, Plato knew, he could do anything he liked to her, but she would be unmoved and would refuse him access to that hole he wished to enter down below.

From the hair, Plato turned his attention to the statue's front, grasping her less-than-supple, eternally firm breasts and reaching for the forever-hard nipples. These two protrusions rotated freely when tweaked and controlled an intricate combination lock within the statue. Tonight, as on many nights, the lock was somewhat stiffened from the Athenian night air, and he massaged her breasts firmly, the warmth from his old hands seeping into the stone and loosening up its inner workings. The orbs were perfectly spherical, and Plato closed his eyes in bliss, thinking of the philosophical purity associated with the shape, as well as other less pure associations he found himself making. Was it not the great Empedocles who had first advanced the notion that "like attracts like"? The rigidity of this Helen was attracting a like sensation beneath his _peplos_. His fingers made short work of her nipples, rotating them to the right angles, for he knew that if he gave into such passions he'd be there all night and would make no progress on his chosen aims.

The final step towards opening the portal to the secret chamber lay further down: above the statue's groin was a secret pressure point that gave slightly when pushed. Kneeling further, Plato rubbed his hand about, searching for, as he called it, the Give-Spot.

"Why, by the dog, is this spot forever so difficult to find?" he asked himself.

At last his fingers found the indentation, and he pressed it forcefully. From behind him came up a slow grinding noise, and he turned to watch one of the stones of the Academy's floor rising from the earth, revealing the cavern below. Chuckling, the philosopher skipped down the stairs and lit the candle that provided the light he used to work on what he knew would soon be his greatest work. There, sitting on a stone table, the cover proudly on top, it sat. _The Republic II: Socrates Gives It All Up._

Sitting down before it and preparing his pen, Plato thought back on the criticism of his previous literary masterpiece that had prompted him to write a second one. The debate still raged fiercely, at least around the Amazon river, about whether Plato was something they called a "proto-feminist" or not; "proto" was of course neither how Plato was spelled nor how it was pronounced, and yet the debate, once kindled, would not end. Some of the Amazon reviewers held that the opinion of women which Plato made Socrates espouse in the original _Republic_ was a shocking and progressive departure from the traditional Athenian model, far ahead of its time and pointing toward a deep and well-reasoned appreciation of women as equals, while other reviewers felt that the very question was unreasonable: without a prior canon of feminists to work from, Plato could hardly be identified as such a man, and his position was simply one part of the existing spectrum of ideas within Athens. At first, Plato had been content to let the reviewers discuss the work among themselves and spend their hours in contemplation, but he soon noticed that the debate was not actually going anywhere and the two sides spent more of their time attacking each other personally then analyzing one another's points or rhetoric. After a great deal of personal introspection, Plato had eventually decided to write a work that would feature women both fully and frontally. _The Republic II_ examined Socrates' early days, while he was developing the Socratic Dialogue in the middle of a harem of well-endowed students of philosophy who were more than willing to swallow anything that came out of him. The chapter Plato was working on at that point dealt with Socrates engaged in discussion with a lovely student named Insatia, delving deep into both her preconceived notions of the workings of the universe and her vagina.

>  **Insatia:** Oh, Socrates! Oh! My lord, such pleasure as this will I never experience again!
> 
>  **Socrates:** How's that? Explain – umph! – explain yourself.
> 
>  **Insatia:** Oooh! How's that, Socrates?
> 
>  **Socrates:** You just said that – ahhh! – that you would never again feel as much pleasure as you feel at this moment. What leads you – errg! – what leads you to this conclusion?
> 
>  **Insatia:** Well, Socrates: I have never before now felt so much – ahhh! Oh, don't stop! – so much pure pleasure as your hard cock makes me feel right now. And I was led to the conclusion – mmmmmmm! – the conclusion, that surely I never would again. Oh! _Socrates_!
> 
>  **Socrates:** Yes?
> 
>  **Insatia:** Nothing! I merely cried out your name in a fit of erotic passion.
> 
>  **Socrates:** Ah, quite right. Well, let us put this argument to the breasts. The test! To the test. You say you have never felt so much pleasure as you do now.
> 
>  **Insatia:** Never, Socrates! Ahh, you are so wonderful!
> 
>  **Socrates:** Naturally. Umph! And before this, did you ever predict this pleasure you feel now?
> 
>  **Insatia:** No! How could I, having no prior pleasure of such a mmmmm _magnitude!_ to make such predictions from?
> 
>  **Socrates:** Ah! Yes! Then why do you feel justified in making such claims now?
> 
>  **Insatia:** I do not follow you, Socrates.
> 
>  **Socrates:** Of course not. Shall I teach you how I – ahhh! – how I came to my conclusion?
> 
>  **Insatia:** Yes, Socrates. Ooh! Oh!
> 
>  **Socrates:** Yes, what?
> 
>  **Insatia:** Yes, teach me your conclusion!
> 
>  **Socrates:** And how to come to it?
> 
>  **Insatia:** Yes, Socrates!
> 
>  **Socrates:** Say it as if – ahh! – say it as if you mean it.
> 
>  **Insatia:** oooh! Yes! Teach me how to come to your conclusion Socrates! Ahhh! Yes! _Teach me, Socrates, teach me! Teach me to come!Ohhh!_
> 
>  **Socrates:** I shall, by the dog!
> 
>  **Insatia:** What dog, Socrates?
> 
>  **Socrates:** The bitch, Insatia.
> 
>  **Insatia:** Ahhh! Mmmm…
> 
>  **Socrates:** To begin with, your prior pleasures were simple ones that you – ooooh – that you administered to yourself, am I not right?
> 
>  **Insatia:** You are right, Socrates. Ahhh, you are right!
> 
>  **Socrates:** To consider these phenomena properly, perhaps you – mmmph! – perhaps you should replicate them as I watch.
> 
>  **Insatia:** Ooh! I can, my lord. But shall you not grow weary in the doing? Although I have never reached such heights of passion as today, I have become quite experienced fingering myself to delight, in a number of styles, and I fear it may take too long for your delicate temperament.
> 
>  **Socrates:** Agh! Do not worry your silly little head about me, Insatia. While you talk and demonstrate, I shall occupy my own mouth with your bounteous bosom.
> 
>  **Insatia:** Mmm, Socrates! Very well! But please do not remove yourself. First I like to start the flow with a little twirl of my finger here, as you, mm, as you see…

Plato's frenetic scribbling was suddenly interrupted by a sound from above. He turned around in his chair and realized in an instant that he had forgotten to close the trapdoor to his chamber after him. One of his students, the young Aristotle, had apparently returned to the Academy for some further question or other consultation, found the darkened portal, and ventured down to find the elder philosopher at his writing table. Plato shut the book entirely too quickly and peered at Aristotle in the darkness, hoping that the small bulge beneath his _peplos_ was not too visible.

"What are you doing down here, Aristotle?" he asked.

"I thought of something as I was leaving," said the young student, "and I thought I would return to the Academy to see if you were still here. I discovered a staircase leading downward and a stone, which clearly had originally concealed the staircase, raised upward by some manner of mechanical lift. Your teachings suggested to me that an unexamined lift is not worth leaving, and I, while in the process of examining it, noticed you working here below and so descended."

"Very well," said Plato. "What is your thought, then? I am your teacher, and so of course it is my duty to be available for consultation at any time, even when I do not have office hours. Are you having difficulties working out your philosophy?"

"Always, master. I am but young, and my thesis needs much advice yet. Were a man from later years to meet me now – one who knows much of my later thought and more sophisticated theorems – he would find only a limited correspondence between the half-blind conjectures I make today and the elegant arguments I will no doubt later devise."

"You mean that if such a man from later years were to come across you, he would find you but a pale imitation, and might even assume that you were the product of a man who wished to speak in the manner of Aristotle but who in fact had a limited understanding of your actual reasoning."

"Precisely! And yet that is not the case, for I am still a student, untried in philosophy as well as lovemaking and warfare."

Plato raised his eyebrows, and another part of him rose a fraction as well. "Interestingly, I think I may be working on a related problem to yours, young sir. Readers of my last book, the _Republic_ , are attributing a different philosophy to me than the one I in fact mean to argue for, not unlike your hypothetical future man who claims to know you and your thoughts better than you do yourself."

Aristotle descended a little farther down the stairs, obviously fascinated. "Indeed? Tell me more, master."

A bit of Plato always thrilled to be called master, and he decided to humor the young student. Perhaps if he went into enough detail, this Aristotle would fright and run away like a rabbit. Students…! "Well, as I have mentioned at the Academy, there has been some confusion among the laymen as to what exactly I view the role of woman to be."

"Prone?"

"Not exactly. Have you been conversing with Anachronisteus Referencus again? You see, I believe that woman, for all her failings, should still be respected, as man is. However, she should be respected for different things, even as her talents lie in different things. For instance, woman is superior to man in the art of weaving. Thus in an ideal society, all those who would weave would be women, and in particular, those women who were among their sex the most skilled at it."

"I believe I follow you. And soldiery?"

"There by far does man outstrip woman, and so it is just and right that our armies are made up of men, and, again, the strongest and fittest of men. For ableness for soldiery is measured in strength and fitness, even as ableness for weaving is measured in light hand and keen eye."

"And yet there are those exceptional women who may even outstrip men in strength and fitness."

"Well, yes, there are cases in which aptitude may win out over the limitations of one's sex. And yet in all other cases this is not so, and if a man and a woman are equally skilled at a task, you shall choose the man, for his is the superior sex. In dancing, where men and women may be proficient with equal likelihood, do you see a mixture of the sexes, according to aptitude, for there are only a certain number of either sex with sufficient skill to perform."

"I see. And how does your book seek to correct the confusion that the first _Republic_ engendered?"

"By presenting women as they are, and not in the abstract. Hold, I shall read you an excerpt from an earlier chapter than that which I am working on now. Here Socrates is speaking with a young woman, nude and freshly clean from the baths, and he is explaining to her the ancient concept of the sphere as geometrical perfection:

>  **Socrates:** So a sphere may be defined by four simple numbers: its position in each of the three dimensions of our world, and its radius, which remains the same at each angle. There is no quantifiable difference between any two points on the surface of a sphere, for each is equally distant from the center. Compare this simplistic perfection to something far more complex, and therefore inferior.
> 
>  **Talis:** Like what, Socrates?
> 
>  **Socrates:** Well, consider the case of attempting to bed a woman. Getting to the point of bedding may be achieved through various means, each costing more or less. It may be quite expensive to win a woman through fine jewelry alone, although intoxicating wines are relatively cheap. Somewhere in-between falls the dowry. The goal, or origin, is the same, but depending on what point one chooses to assail the origin from, one has farther or shorter to go. A shortest radius may perhaps be discovered, but one radius alone is insufficient for definition. Thus, runs the argument, are women inferior to spheres.
> 
>  **Talis:** And yet no one would wish to bed a sphere?
> 
>  **Socrates:** Most true. And so I propose a theory of Forms. All women are representations of the ideal Woman, the Form of Woman, who exemplifies every characteristic that is good in women. No individual woman on earth is this Form, but each approximates her more or less, and the closer she is to Woman, the better she is. But there are many Forms, each perfect in their own ways. So, all earthly spheres are but approximations of the ideal Form of the Sphere… but hold!
> 
>  **Talis:** Hold? What has alarmed you?
> 
>  **Socrates:** My theory may be wrong. These globes upon your chest…!
> 
>  **Talis:** My breasts?
> 
>  **Socrates:** Yes, by Zeus! Let me examine these. Such glorious protrusions could surely not be anything but the Form of the Sphere themselves. And yet despite their apparent perfection, there are two of them, and they exist in this world with us. You will forgive me if I inspect your beautiful breasts and see what impact they may have on my philosophy?
> 
>  **Talis:** Of course, I… ooh! I would be happy to be of any help I could… oh! Ah, Socrates, that feels so good!
> 
>  **Socrates:** My dear Talis! So round and soft… I could contemplate these for some time!
> 
>  **Talis:** Shall we retreat to my chambers? You – ahhh! – you must tell me more of this ideal Woman, at the very least --- mmm!
> 
>  **Socrates:** It would be my pleasure. To begin with, her shortest radius is extremely small…

Plato stopped reading in alarm as Aristotle slammed the book shut. The younger student looked furious, his breath short, and yet despite the dark of the room, Plato saw a certain gleam in his eyes that was not immediately recognizable. "Stop!" said Aristotle, and Plato waited. "Is _this_ your new masterpiece? Your fantasies of being Socrates, your old teacher, have extended even unto his love life, and you wish to publish a series of sexual encounters between him and desirable young women?"

"Aristotle, you disrespect your elder! Socrates was a man, as we are, and a great one – is it so unlikely that he, in his youth, had his pick of the finest maidens of the city? Besides, as I have said, these scenes serve but as illustrations, explaining both my philosophy and how it applies to women."

"But these scenes do directly contradict your philosophy!"

"How's that? Explain yourself."

"I shall, master. Indeed, this is the thought which I had but a little while ago, and which prompted me to come back and see if you were still here. You write of Socrates in the throes of passion with many women, but is not the sexual bond between two men in all ways superior?"

"You speak of pederasty? Aristotle, you are young yet, and perhaps you do not properly understand. First, pederasty is a unique social structure between an _erastes_ and an _eromenos_ of specific ages and backgrounds, intended to supplement existing forms of education for the youth, not to replace the ordinary sexual intercourse between man and woman that has existed since the dawn of time. Second, the very proposal to write a book told through Socrates' sexual encounters with men is untenable, for he was a believer in homoerotic chastity, as seen in his famous love for Alcibiades. Third, as you would know had you read my _Laws_ , pederasty is harmful to society and promotes disruption and distraction within the mind as well as in interpersonal life."

 "It is true you have written heatedly against the intermale bond, master. Although I have to wonder, with such repeated attacks on the very social structure within which it operates, and with your apparent need to show Socrates, whom you idolize, as sexually loving only women, is there perhaps something you are attempting to hide?"

"Explain yourself!"

"No, forgive me, that was unkindly put. Let me return to my philosophical argument. You told me, a brief span of time ago, that each task in an ideal society would be given to the man or woman most suited for it, correct?"

"Correct."

"You spoke of weaving, and soldiery, and dancing, but consider now the sexual bond. When men and women engage in sexual intercourse with one another, do they perform the same actions?"

"Why, no. Women are penetrated, and men penetrate."

"And yet may not men be penetrated as well?"

"They may."

"So if both men and women may be penetrated, then in your ideal society, whoever have the greater ableness in being penetrated should receive the burden. And since being penetrated requires no more special ability than willingness, if one can find both men and women who are willing, then one is surely obliged to proposition the man, not the women, for sexual excitement, as men are held to be superior to women when all other measures fall short."

"Perhaps…" Plato was painfully aware that the bulge beneath his _peplos_ was showing no signs of receding, and the sight through the darkness of Aristotle's young, pouty lips explaining his argument was not helping in the least.

"Further, although this second point is tentative, no more, the very equality of intermale sex works in its favor. We have already established that men may either penetrate or be penetrated. If engaging in intercourse with other men, they may do both: however, should a man engage sexually with a woman, then he is limited only to penetration, and his facility for being penetrated is left latent."

"But who would remain to fornicate with the women?"

"Master, I do not particularly care if or with whom women have sex. But if you are worried for the purposes of preserving the human species, I assure you there will always be men who will refuse to be won over to any philosophical point, however logically consistent or well argued, and so humanity will continue to reproduce itself."

"I… see. Your point is interesting," said Plato, hoping his voice sounded calmer to Aristotle than it did to him. "However, it is also moot, for in my book Socrates is not in a location with other men, and so his only option…"

"Oh, forget Socrates!" Aristotle strode across the remaining distance between them and placed his hand flatly just below Plato's thigh. The hairs on the back of Plato's neck shot straight upright. "This is all you talk about. Socrates this, Socrates that. First you are obsessed with cultural convention, then you return to your idealized teacher figure. What of _my_ teacher figure? Put yourself back in the immediate world and live a little, master. Consider the philosophy that has just been presented to you, not what you would have Greece think a long-dead man said!"

"I…"

"Come! Perhaps you reject my thinking because you have forced homosexual behavior into an entirely abstract construct and forgotten the actual sensations it stands for. Let me show you, then, master, and you can judge for yourself afterward, having experienced our topic of discussion in all its capacities." With that, Aristotle slid forward onto Plato's lap and brought his face close to the older man's left ear, tongue darting out and licking the exposed lobe. "The only relevant ableness is willingness," he said, practically purring.

"Aristotle, I…" Plato fumbled with his words. Time seemed to slow down as he sensed every atom, if Democritus were to be trusted, of his pupil's young body before him. "I cannot… I am your teacher, and you my student, and…"

"But master," said Aristotle, running a hand down Plato's back, "that is exactly what makes it so perfect. You are my teacher for your philosophical prowess, your integrity, your intelligence. We are not restricted to any shared interest or specific mercantile interaction… I value you and learn from you because ours is a relationship of virtue. Relationships of virtue are the ultimate relationships and subsume all others, including those of utility, within them. For us to pleasurably extract sexual utility from one another does not affect the greater, virtuous relationship within which the utility lies."

Plato was sure that Aristotle had further arguments, but he could take it no longer. It had been long, long since the old philosopher had last felt a body so close, pressed up against him, and his senses were reeling. With a roar, he rose from the chair, knocking a surprised Aristotle onto the floor below. Plato leapt down to greet him, tore away the brooches on his pupil's _chiton_ so that the garment fell to Aristotle's waist, and buried his bearded face in the younger man's shoulders. Aristotle let out a groan of surprised delight and reached around Plato's back to grab his butt squarely in both hands, pulling the two men together.

"Ah! Master! Yes!" Aristotle spoke shakily between intakes of breath as they explored one another, rubbing their hands across each other's bodies and groaning with each newly discovered angle or crevice. The only light in the room was that of the candle on the stone table, which illuminated little more than the table's surface and the now-forgotten manuscript upon it, so that touch was practically their only available sense. Aristotle's back became a dialogue with Plato's hands, returning each point of contact with smooth, manly firmness. "Ahh, master… I have waited for this since the day I first became your pupil!"

"Then you shall have a night – a night worth awaiting, boy," said Plato, gasping in the middle as Aristotle stroked his foot along Plato's leg. Their bodies were completely entangled now, and Plato had but to reach about to feel Aristotle's sweaty, delectable form in front of him. He slid himself up Aristotle's chest, hearing with pleasure the muffled scream his movement elicited, and extended his tongue to lick at Aristotle's exposed neck. The willing student leaned his head back, breathing heavily and grasping at Plato's breast, massaging and squeezing the _peplos_ -clad flesh. The candle hiccupped and continued to burn slowly, becoming shorter as the hot wax dripped downward onto the stone table. Plato could feel his own hot, sticky substance dripping downward as the two continued to press themselves against one another feverishly, pushing, feeling, turning, trying, all without sign of weariness.

"Come," he said, "let us rid you of this tiresome garment." Fumbling slightly in the darkness, Plato undid Aristotle's belt and stripped him of the light _chiton_ , leaving him kneeling nude before Plato's hungry gaze. The young student, despite his intense study of philosophy, seemed to Plato to have the body of a god or athlete, and Aristotle's hard cock, near white from its lack of exposure to the sun, quivered in the cool night air as if crying out for the warmth only another body can provide. He could not have stopped himself from reaching out for it had he tried. Plato ran his hands up and down Aristotle's ivory tower and murmured softly in delight. Overwhelmed by the musky scent, he bent his head down and took the extent of Aristotle's shaft in his mouth, licking roughly. Aristotle moaned and pulled Plato closer to him, and Plato sucked and licked up and down as if he had no other care in the world.

"Wait," said Aristotle after several minutes, his voice shaky, "this is contrary to the principle of equality ingrained in male-male intercourse which I espoused earlier. If you, ahh, if you will but turn around, then I can administer to you similarly."

Plato rose his head up from Aristotle's now-dripping shaft, breathless. "Very well," he said. "In truth, I have heard of such a position, and its very practicality suggests to me that it should have some sort of name."

"A friend of mine is compiling a detailed enumeration of the discontinuous positions of sexuality – although he anticipates some trouble with one Gödel, a friend of Anachronisteus Referencus' – and he has numbered this position of equality, wherein each partner administers similarly to the other's genitalia, number xi-theta."

"Too detached. It'll never catch on," said Plato, and then paused. "But Aristotle… perhaps we should not, that is…"

"What is the matter, my master?"

"You come to this Academy because I can give you more than any other man can, and yet… Aristotle, the gods were gracious when they formed you, but they were stingier in my creation, and…"

"You worry that your penis is not large enough to please me?"

"That is… yes."

Aristotle smiled and leaned forward, placing a sweaty palm on Plato's shoulder. "Worry not, master. My philosophy, fledgling as it may be, will soothe your worries. One's genitals come in many sizes, and on either extreme lie examples that I would not wish to touch. Women's genitals are of course the smallest, extending barely away from the groin, and those in our society who are the thickest and lengthiest, why, what use are they to me? No, true perfection comes not from one's objective position on some scale, but in how well one is suited for the task at hand. Thus your member may not be the longest ever boasted of in Athens, but to me, it is golden, if you know what I mean."

Plato was mollified, and slowly removed his _peplos_ , noting with some golden-sized pleasure Aristotle's look of approval. Shedding the garment entirely, he brought his mouth once more down around Aristotle's waiting phallus, who did likewise to Plato's, and the two men lay there writhing, the older atop the younger, silence punctuated by satisfied moans and sighs, as the candle burnt away. They ran their hands up and down one another's taut torsos, wondering at how familiar one another's bodies were, although they had never tread the ground before. A little time later, Aristotle's body spasmed uncontrollably and he plowed Plato's open mouth with his seed. Plato coughed, swallowed inadvertently, and then smiled in enjoyment as the hot liquid seeped down his throat.

"Ah, master…" Aristotle lay flat on the ground, smiling broadly, his head turned to one side and his prostate prostrate. "That was even better than I had hoped for when I began first to retread my footsteps back to the Academy tonight."

"And it is not finished yet," said Plato, standing up and looking down at the flattened Aristotle.

"No?"

"No, for I am still hard and have not come. On your knees, by the… nay, _as_ the dog."

Aristotle blinked once and then repositioned himself instantly, his butt motionless before Plato as if it too shared in Aristotle's anticipation despite its inanimacy. "Do it, master," said Aristotle. "I took the liberty of lubricating myself before I arrived here, so it should not be difficult."

Plato nodded in satisfaction. "Then let us resume our relationship as teacher and student as I impart Socrates to your carnal emptiness."

"Socrates?"

"Yes. Socrates is what I have named my penis."

Aristotle sighed. "Of course it is, master. But we may talk about that later. Please, I'm ready!"

Plato grunted and drove his shaft into Aristotle, dilating his pupil's behind. Aristotle let out a wild whoop and pushed back as Plato thrust himself slowly in and out, amazed by how tight Aristotle's rear felt around his shaft. This was a snugness he had never imagined in his nights of fantasizing over the statuette of Helen. Plato grasped Aristotle's butt cheeks in both hands for support and thrust harder, sweat glistening on his old brow. No words were necessary as he stood above Aristotle, driving himself in and out of his student with a fierce, animal vigor surprising in a man of his years. Aristotle's arguments for the superiority of homosexual intercourse made more sense to him now than any other philosophy ever had, and it was with a deep satisfaction that he emptied his own load at last, climaxing with a shout even as the candle finally sputtered away and the chamber went pitch black. Exhausted, Plato leaned against one of the stone walls.

"Aristotle, my boy, I thank you," he said.

"Mmmm, do not think a thing of it, my master," said Aristotle. "It was my pleasure."

Plato chuckled. "I wish there were some small sign of physical affection we should share in the aftermath, not necessarily sexual in nature, but such that any two people could do it to each other to show affection without any great effort on their part."

"Such a small, affectionate gesture may come to Greece eventually, and doubtless bring with it great social change, but I fear that you will be dead by the time that it does, my master."

"Well, be that as it may. By Selene, I am weary. Aristotle, I do not know your plans, but I shall betake myself to slumber even here and now."

Aristotle made no response, and lay spent on the floor, still warm despite the cool night air. Gradually the two men fell asleep.

 

When Plato awoke, it was to the morning sun streaming in through the still-open stairwell. Everything was untouched from the way it had been the night before: the _Republic II_ , now clearly in need of significant revision, was still closed on the table from where Aristotle had angrily shut it. Their clothes were strewn about the corners of the room in wrinkled heaps, and Aristotle was curled up in a ball, firm young ass tantalizingly pointing outwards. Despite the earliness of the morning, Plato felt himself becoming aroused once more, and he woke Aristotle up with a push on the shoulder.

"What… master? What time is it?" asked Aristotle, yawning widely.

"Sunup. Come, I would have you once more."

Aristotle looked sleepy, but Plato noticed a gleam of excitement in the younger man's eyes nonetheless. "Right here and now?"

"No, rather, outside, in the open air."

"Where we might be seen?"

"Yes. The thought came to me while I slept… down here, as we were last night, we did little better than grasp at shadows. Our illumination was a candle flame and we could not see each other truly, instead creating ideas of one another's bodies based on the limited light from the fire. But if we ascend this staircase to the outside world, where the sun shines, then everything will be illuminated and we will be able to see each other's true forms with far greater accuracy."

The two men rose to their feet, arms around one another for support in their tiredness, and walked up the stairs out of Plato's cave. As they walked, Aristotle laughed quietly, and turned to Plato.

"It seems I have well convinced you of women's inferiority in this."

"Oh, to be sure. Such an unequal perception of the sexes is inherent to our culture, and I could not have been truly expected to be exempt from it or to try to apply it only selectively in my philosophy."

"Do you suppose, master, that years from now, another great nation will be on this Earth, one which envisions itself as following in the traditions of almighty Greece but yet holds all men and women to have been created equal?"

Plato snorted. "I doubt it. Such a society would be very troubled and would have a lot of questions to deal with. It would take a large institution of great thinkers, larger by far than my Academy, even to begin to reconcile such a contradiction in a society's core values."

Aristotle nodded sympathetically, and the two men strode into the sunlight in search of further adventure.


End file.
